


The Forgotten Years

by Bonehammer



Series: Destined to Repeat it [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF everyone, Dark Magic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 16:11:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonehammer/pseuds/Bonehammer
Summary: A companion piece and prequel to my ongoing story, "Destined to repeat It"





	1. The Empty House

 

_The hardest years, the darkest years, the roarin' years, the fallen years_  
_These should not be forgotten years_  
_The hardest years, the wildest years, the desperate and divided years_  
_We will remember, these should not be forgotten years_

MIDNIGHT OIL,  _Forgotten Years_

* * *

_DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES - MEMORANDUM_  
_(Classification: Hush-Hush – Internal Circulation Only)_

_The following is a transcription from a handwritten book found by wizard Dearg McDougal of Wolverhampton in a clearing of the woods near Cinderford. The book appeared worn, discoloured and partially burnt._

_After reading the first pages, Mr McDougal saw it best to turn the book to the Cinderford Auror station for further enquiry; in turn, the Chief Auror handed it over to the Department of Mysteries. (Note: All parties involved so far were subjected to memory modification and are NOT to be enquired further)_

_After thorough examination of the book and the location where it was found, our Unspeakables narrowed the possibilities to a number of three: namely, the manuscript could be:_

_1) an elaborate prank,_

_2) the product of a mind labouring under an intense delusion,_

_3) an accurate report of events that actually transpired._

_The presence of residual magic of Dark nature in the clearing, and the finding of partial human remains, did not help clarify the matter further. Although it is certain that a ritual of some kind was perpetrated, no assumption can be made regarding its purpose or successfulness._

_People mentioned in the book and whose identity could be ascertained were approached as discreetly as possible; no one has given a likely explanation so far._

_In order to allow the specimen to be thoroughly examined, and with a mind to its state of preservation, the book has been transcribed completely, including parts that had been erased or marked for cancellation by the author. Shorthand, acronyms and abbreviations have been worked out as best as possible. Some parts are further protected by encryption spells and the content could not be deciphered._

_Anyone able to provide explanation please apply to Mr Knutworth, Unspeakable Office, Department of Mysteries, every other Wednesday afternoon._

_(Please note: it might be necessary to modify your memory after giving evidence. We apologise in advance for any inconvenient it may cause)._

* * *

_11_ _th_ _November, noon_

[Encrypted text]

_Reached the shack today dawn, on the lookout from safe distance ever since; no sign of activity. Elected not to contact Order after last altercation. The utter_ _**morons** _ _– they still refuse to do what has to be done._

_I am leaving observation point & heading to the shack now._

_Founders preserve me._

[Scratched out, partly unreadable: _(If anyone finds this book & cares for wizardkind, please leave █████████████Magical Brethren in the hall of the Ministry building at London. Your identity shall remain a secret.)_]

* * *

_11_ _th_ _November, 13_   _th_ _hour_

_**IT'S OVER.** _

_Ten years of hunting came to an end. I didnt have to do anything: he is_ _**finished** _ _._

[Scratched out: _(I only wish I had_)_ ]

_Shack contained one Dementor in warded cage-like structure. Found P. lying in front of cage, obviously Kissed – hardly accidental. Body dehydrated, otherwise healthy. Conditions as to be expected – responsive to bodily stimuli (prodding / Stinging Hex), capable of executing simple verbal commands; otherwise catatonic: motionless, blank, etc. Wand polished & shut in carrying case confirms hypothesis of suicide. Appears that P.  **took his own soul**  in the end rather than answering the Wizengamot._

[Scratched out: _(For thunders sake, a dementor. It takes some_)_ ]

_**No**  notes / messages / will found. Will inspect tomorrow w/ more light & rest - cant risk triggering a trap._

_Sleeping out in the woods b/c of Dementor. Havent met one in years, own defences pretty low._

_Havent contacted the Order yet._

_Not sure what to do._

[Sketched drawing of a female head follows. Scratched out:  _(You know I had to.)_ ]

* * *

_13_ _th_ _November_

_Too busy to write yesterday._

[Encrypted text]

_Hardly a coincidence, given how their lives were inextricably tied. Perhaps the circumstances of P.'s Kiss need to be examined in a new light._

_P.'s condition stable for now. Unsurprisingly he is in no condition to talk. Several interesting findings, eg a **Portsieve**  (how he even acquired one?!) & sealed memory vials in  **false bottom**  of cupboard. Ought to turn it over to the Order, but unable to. Spent last ten years trying to understand what passed through his mind – not easy to let go, not so soon. All the destruction - we need an explanation if we are to ensure that this never happens again._

_Left Dementor in cage, wards around shack reinforced; side-Apparated w/ P.'s body to S. End this morning. Hidden quarters behind library not vacant anymore. Spent rest of day setting up._

_Will try tomorrow on a good nights sleep._

[Sketched drawing of a Pensieve follows.]

* * *

_15_ _th_ _November._

_Cannot make out what I saw. Vials do not seem to contain memories – **not**  matching w/ anything that actually happened. Perhaps visions – P. possibly a Seer? No trace of Divination on his school records, & yet that would explain so many things._

* * *

[The previous page has been torn from the book.]

_16_ _th_ _November._

_Merlins_ _**bollocks.** _

[Sketched drawing of the Astronomy Tower at the Hogwarts School, harshly scratched out.]

_P.'s not visions, just delusions._ _**He** _ _is the only responsible for D.'s death._ [Scratched out: ( _Not me)_ ]

_We nurtured a raving lunatic in our midst for years. We stood by, taking no action, as he repeatedly stepped out of boundary. The Headmaster goaded P.'s ego and ultimately paid the price for his own leniency. All the sufferance that ensued. Was. For._ _**NOTHING** _ _._

_This has to be denied, evidence destroyed, for our own sake. What little is left of our society would complete collapse if it became common knowledge that P. embarked the better part of a generation in a holy war against something that only existed in his own delirium. Rather better to second the old wives tale that P. was the Dark Lord reborn._

[Scratched out, partly unreadable: _('Se███s... Please')_ ]

_I wouldnt._ _**I never** _ _._

* * *

_17_ _th_ _November._

_Completed examination of 'memories'. More examples of events which never happened & never _ _ **could** _ _have happened. Either delusions or fabrications, an alibi for_ _ **nothing** _ _: P.'s true nature has been bitterly revealed in the destruction of our society spread over an entire continent. This pathetic attempt at a self-defense is known only to the two of us; soon to myself only._

_Side-Apparating back to the shack for the final arrangements._

* * *

Dust rose around them as they Apparated into the desolate shack. The body he was holding stumbled and fell like an empty sack, dragging him down; he let go at once, but fell painfully on the floor nonetheless. Severus Snape swore horribly as he got up; he had mastered Side-Apparation a long time ago, but he was used to companions that would at least  _try_  and stand upright.

The other was still lying on the floor, in a contorted pose; he hadn't moved a muscle. A slight rasping sound that accompanied every breath was the only sign of life.

Severus Snape drew his wand. The Dementor, still restrained, sensed the tension in the air and paced the perimeter of its prison; the temperature dropped.

"You should be thankful, Potter. Your torment is about to end."

A vicarious memory hovered before his eyes, but he shook it away.

_Severus... please..._

An inarticulate cry rose to his lips. They would all have to live and die without an explanation; why Potter had bit the hand that had raised and trained him, done the things he had done, set the wizarding world ablaze in a deflagration that was now finally smothering just because there was too little of value left to sustain it.

Snape had just brandished his wand when awareness struck.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself.

He took a step back and pocketed his wand again lest the temptation became too strong again. Others had tried to kill Potter before, and look where it had landed them. What with him being a soulless entity now, casting the Killing Curse was now more likely than ever to have it rebounding in one's own face. Still, he didn't like the idea of casting something gross such as  _Reducto_ ; the Killing Curse was cleaner and definitive. There were a way to find out, however. He drew his wand again and aimed it at the body.

" _Crucio!_ "

Everything happened at once. The limp body at his feet contorted and writhed like a sack of live tarantulas; and a shriek surged from behind Snape. He turned at once, readying his Patronus if need be, but the wards were holding.

The Dementor had gone mad. It was hurling itself at the cage, flailing his long skeletal arms and shrieking like a banshee.

In all his years researching Dark creatures Snape had never seen anything like this. Dementors were not prone to pain: a Patronus could drive them off, not hurt them. The Department of Secrets was still at a loss to comprehend the kind of magic Potter had used to destroy all of them, bar this one. What in the name of Circe was going on?

" _Finite,_ " he ordered.

The body at his feet and the towering creature behind the bars ceased writhing in the same exact moment.

Perhaps the Dementor was just venting out its frustration at having helpless bait just out of reach. There was a simple way to find out. Snape pointed the wand inwards.

" _Crucio,_ " he said, and immediately the air was sucked out of his lungs.

He leaned against the wall, trying to control his own spasming body. Through the red haze of pain he could see the Dementor: staring blindly, motionless, indifferent. The wand slipped between his fingers, ending the spell, and the torture ceased.

"It can't be," he breathed. Slowly, painstakingly, he bent over and retrieved the wand. He stayed on the floor, unable to pull himself up just yet.

He had always thought Albus had lied to him out of sympathy. A soul could not possibly mend itself, not after a lifetime of murder and torture. It was just a ruse to convince hardened criminals to surrender.

And yet the proof of the very opposite was now in the room with him: something of Potter had survived other than his numb body. As he grasped the enormity of that fact and its ramifications, a plan quickened in his brain, undefined and hazy at first, like distant shapes in a November morning. He shut his eyes, letting his mind wander: once the haze cleared, there would be something solid.

The library at Spinner's End was too limited for his purpose. But young Nott had salvaged a lot of Dark tomes from the family mansion before it was razed. He knew where they were hidden: he would pay a visit soon.

* * *

_19_ _th_ _November_

_Still dont know why I dont cast_ Diffindo _and be done with him. Im wasting my time. P. is beyond recovery, hes soiling the house, & even if I succeeded there would never be an investigation: the Wizengamot would sentence him to the Kiss immediately._

_I need him to explain what have I seen in the Portsieve._

[Scratched out: _(The Astronomy Tower)_ ]

* * *

_20_ _th_ _November_

[Scratched out drawing of a severed arm]

_Im crazy. Im Demented._

_I cant think of anything else._

_Salazar have pity on me. Im back at S. End now. My obsession lies hidden behind the bookshelves drooling all over himself as I browse tomes inked in poison and bound in iron restraints._

_Order firecalled today sounding frantic – did not reply. Could not come up with convincing lie._

* * *

_24_ _th_ _November_

_Contacted veteran Ministry officer, assigned to Azkaban pre-war. Very familiar with Dementors & rather unpleasant man to be around. Provided helpful information however: spells do exist which can be applied to terminate rogue / supernumerary Dementors. Extremely demanding and impossible to cast outside strictly controlled conditions._

_I cant do this alone._

* * *

Next: Driving Miss Granger.


	2. Driving Miss Granger

_Seize the day or die regretting the time you lost_  
_It's empty and cold without you here, too many people to ache over_

 _Newborn life replacing all of us, changing this fable we live in_  
_No longer needed here so where do we go?_  
_Will you take a journey tonight, follow me past the walls of death?_

_AVENGED SEVENFOLD, Seize the day_

* * *

_29_ _th_ _May_

_Memories in Portsieve turned into Pandoras box of opportunities. Cant stay away._

_Granger._ _Granger._ _**Granger** _ _._ _Each time P. escaped jaws of death by mere inches – expect her to have a wand in it. Solving my own version of the Einsteins puzzle at 11, brewing Polyjuice at 12, casting Protean Charms at 16._

[Scratched out: _(Salazar must be spinning in his grave_)_ ]

* * *

Hermione Granger shuffled her feet. The queue didn't seem to move at all; someone in the front was yelling at the employees. Only one clerk was behind the teller, a young wizard with bucked teeth that she had never seen before. Her back was killing her, but she didn't dare to sit down and lose her place in the queue. She looked for a distraction in the form of a poster, but they had not changed for years. Safety measures ( _N° 5: Whenever possible, complete your journey before nightfall_ ), rationing informations ( _Only one ounce of Floo powder can be allotted for each child between age 11 and 17 living with the applicant. Need birth certificate. Squibs need not apply_ ), and, worst, desperate appeals for beloved ones ( _Have you seen this witch? Missing since February 3_ _rd_ _in the Crocksbridge area, wearing burgundy robe, 9"½ boxwood wand_ ).

Only seven people now…

Someone nudged her on an arm. She wheeled around and found herself facing a shrivelled witch, shrunken by old age until she was not much taller than a goblin.

"Are you queuing for Fluxweed, dear?" the witch said, speaking through sparse teeth and patting her arm with hands like sparrow feet. "You can have mine, I have no use for it these days anyway."

Disconcerted at that excess of intimacy, Hermione took a step back, while a deeper part of her brain worked out the smaller details.

Her eyes widened and she studied the wizened features. There was something mismatched about the witch, and for an instant she let another, sterner countenance appear in lieu of her coy smile. It was fleeting, but it was enough for Hermione.

"Well, thank you," she said, "I guess I don't have any more business here, then."

She closed in, accepting the fag of dried tufts that was pressed in her hands, and recognized the faintest smell of sulphur, like overcooked cabbage, on the witch's breath.

_Polyjuice, all right._

She left the apothecary and walked out in the busy remains of Diagon Alley, stopping at times to adjust her tote bag so that the witch could keep up. They reached the Apparition area together, apparently by mere chance. There was a queue for that too, as most people couldn't afford to Floo anymore; when their turn came, they stepped into the Apparation area together, and Hermione grabbed the witch's hand at the lastest instant.

The usual vertigo of Apparation seized her. It was as though eating one of Alice's cookies and shrinking, then swelling back to normal in the time of an eyewink; like a rollercoaster ride, only without the wagon.

She came back to reality and blinked. They had Apparated in a dingy living room; the furniture was Muggle-style, but every pretence of Mugglishness had disappeared under the old tomes, weird artifacts and bits of parchment covering every available surface. It looked as if the resident had kept himself busy lately, and not with the chores. Everything but the books was dusty, shabby, or unkept.

The witch limped over to a coffee table laden with vessels and phials; she picked up a small bottle with an eye-dropper cap and a glass.

"Excuse me. I find it easier to get back to my default body when the transformation is brief," she said, the familiar no-nonsense tone clashing with her shrill voice, as she hobbled down the corridor.

A few minutes later, Severus Snape came striding back, still a bit unsteady from the transformation, wearing his familiar grey robes with the empty sleeve pinned to the shoulder. He had changed little since the last time: there were additional crow feet at the corner of his eyes, and his hair, which had gone white in the space of a single night, had receded further from his forehead and temples; needless to say, it was greasy and badly in need of a good trimming. Then again, it wasn't like wizards in their right mind would allow a charmed razor anywhere near their necks these days.

"Why the subterfuge?"

"It seemed a rather minimal precaution considering that I'm officially  _dead_."

"I mean you could have contacted me via the Order, Professor."

"Drop the formalities,  _miss Granger_." The familiar sneer crept up his features. "You haven't attended Hogwarts in years and my tenure ended even earlier than that. Have a seat." He waved his wand at a pile of books bundled on the nearest armchair, to make some space: the tomes flew neatly to an already overloaded bookshelf and stacked themselves over their fellows.

Hermione eyed the armchair suspiciously – it looked as decrepit as the rest of the furniture – and stood.  
They remained like that for a while, locked in a staring contest as the silence between them grew tenser. In the end, it was Snape who lost his patience.

"I know what you're thinking. What I don't know is why you won't damn well _ask!_ "

Hermione shrugged. "Because it's a moot point. He's dead, isn't he? The natural progression of his slow, unstoppable, documented and discussed decay. Did you bury the body in your backyard or preserve it in formalin?"

"Wizards are _cremated_ , Miss Granger. Every other method is considered disrespectful."

"That's rich! You know what he did with - used any thing which could serve his purposes, how he'd..."

Snape cut her in, hand raised. "I just wanted you to know _exactly_ why I left him for the badgers." He sighed loudly. Anyone less familiar with the man could have missed the relish in his voice.

She let out a snort that became a chuckle. The Dark Wizard whose name had once terrorized a continent: gone out with a whimper, in the most undignified manner, among the general disinterest.  
So it was over at last, and she learned about it in a dingy room in a Muggle fleabox, from the person she liked the least. 

"You disappeared for weeks, leaving the Order without a clue. People were worried. There was quite the speculation about your fate."

Snape had Banished the ash from a fireplace and made a small pile of twigs onto the andirons. A corner of his mouth creased. "What kind of speculation?"

"That you had been  _killed_ , or  _captured_ , that you had  _joined_  - well, you know." Hermione shook her shoulder in a way that was almost subliminal, but it was enough for Snape. The sneer came back with a vengeance.

"The first two hypotheses are obviously wrong, as you can see. Anyone who would believe the third clearly does not know either of us."

 "You're not discussing the _fourth_  one, though. I know what you set out to do. I know you would not contact anyone, you would not return, unless you were... done."

Snape did not reply. His features narrowed and he busied himself with igniting and stoking the fire, and Hermione _knew_.

"How did you... No, you did not. If he had been killed, we'd know." It had been ages since her last visit to the Burrow, but the enchanted clock was still working. Mrs Weasley checked it every day and she would tell immediately if Harry's hand shifted.  
Then again, it had been pointing at "Lost" for years, and that encompassed a lot of things. She was still working on the possible explanations - why did Snape always have to be so _cryptic?_ \- when he fired the first shot.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about your Time-Turner, miss Granger?"

"Because I was not supposed to. It was a confidential agreement. What did Minerva tell you?"

" _Headmaster McGonagall_  and I are not on speaking terms these days, let alone on a first-name basis," he confessed. "No, I acquired the information from a _common acquaintance_ of ours."

This time it was her turn to frown. So Snape _had_ met Harry after all. It was odd that they had managed to exchange words other than curses.  "Harry couldn't tell you what he never knew. And how would  _you_..."

"We did not speak. I found out where he had been  _burrowed,_ " Snape said, putting all his malice into the last word. "And I discovered a Portsieve."

Hermione squeezed her eyes: they had gone slightly misty. "Still not possible, Harry didn't have any knowledge of it. Quit playing around and tell me what you're really after,  _Severed_."

"Fair enough," Snape conceded. "It would have been... lessee... your third year. Our lamented Headmaster assigned the Defence post to that wretched werewolf, burdening me with the task of preparing Wolfsbane Potion every month; and to add insult to injury, Potter decided to spend an entire year locked up in Gryffindor Tower, neglecting lessons and assignments alike."

"Professor Lupin was competent and humane, and Harry's despair was perfectly understandable, given the situation," Hermione replied. Snape's recollection was correct, although partisan as was his usual.

"He came round in time to sit his final exams and passed them  _cum laude_ … including a Soothing Solution that had no fault whatsoever. I always suspected you had a wand in that, Granger. Did you?"

"No. Harry seldom needed anyone's help with lessons, let alone tests."

"But  _you_  needed help with lessons, didn't you? Having resolved to burden yourself with two useless courses, you needed more  _time_. And your Head of House, instead of trying to talk you out of your foolishness, vouched for you at the Ministry."

"So far, you're correct... more or less." Hermione nodded again. "But on the very first day, Harry… well, you know."

"I remember Potter's tantrum well, as I had to help pick up in the aftermath. It's not every day outbursts of uncontrolled magic occur in wizards of school-age; a lot of precious instruments were damaged beyond Reparation. How did he even find out, I wonder?"

"Draco Malfoy, taunting Harry as usual, this time about how he had missed the news that the murderer of his parents had been Kissed after a riot had broken out at Azkaban," Hermione revealed. "Professor Dumbledore was so worried about Harry that he asked Ron and me to keep an eye on him in case he did anything… drastic. Ron himself was under the weather – he felt guilty for not having recognized that his rat had been an Animagus in disguise. So I dropped the extra subjects and the Time-Turner was restored to the Ministry."

"So you never time-travelled with Potter?"

"And neither alone."

"And you never brewed Polyjuice Potion in a girls' toilet, either?"

Hermione's blank stare was answer enough. Snape shook his head.

"Nay, it doesn't make sense to me as well... not yet."

"Now it's my turn to ask questions. You captured Harry and you are keeping him imprisoned somewhere. How. And  _why_?"

"To know the answer, you will have to gaze into the abyss of Potter's folly," said the one-armed man, leaning forward. "Are you prepared to do that?"

* * *

 _6_ _th_ _June_

 _Granger agreed to help - although "with reserve". As if a Gryff could ever have a mind for second thoughts_  [Scratched out: _(or first for that_   _matter)_ ].

_Tasked her with examining the memory vials, under oath of secrecy: hopefully her greater familiarity with P. will bring additional clues. Hard to believe such knowledge could be attained in a single generation. Shallow yes, inelegant but thorough, solid, w/ eagerness to improve._

[Scratched out: ( _Her knowledge of Light Arts might actually be sup_)_ ]

_A pity V. is not around to suffer this._

* * *

Next: Breaking strongholds.


End file.
